


From Dusk Till Dawn

by Aotaru_Kimeru



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: 2Parks best friends, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Blood Bank!AU, Character Turned Into Vampire, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda Dark, M/M, PanWink - Freeform, Slow Burn, Unbeta'd, dark dystopian world, mainly panwink, one-sided nielwink, other pairings will be mentioned/implied
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 01:59:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12223434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aotaru_Kimeru/pseuds/Aotaru_Kimeru
Summary: AU where humans suffer the oppression of a dystopian world ruled by the supremacy of PUREBLOODS (Vampires).Jihoon is a human. Guanlin is somewhere in between. Suffocated in the absolute control of District Eleven, they find each other and learn how to breathe anew.- Or - Jihoon really hates vampires, be it PUREBLOODS or halflings (except Woojin) and Guanlin is absolutely smitten with Jihoon. Too bad he's not quite human.p.s. In case you can't tell, I cannot do summaries.





	From Dusk Till Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear readers!  
> Okay, so bear with me. I have heaps of oneshots waiting to be written but this fic is currently occupying all available mind-space, so I just wanna try it out and see how it goes. 
> 
> p.s. 100% recommend people to read Blood Bank! Very nice Korean Webtoon (if you know what I mean :))

It was a cold night in April, and the clocks were striking twenty-two. It was almost curfew, Jihoon quickened his pace on the nearly empty asphalt street. With his chin tucked into his chest Jihoon tugged on the thin material of his dark blue jumpsuit in an effort to escape the vile winds. 

 

The  _ click-clack _ sound of his shoes as they connected with hard pavement was his only accompaniment. Occasionally he would hear echoes of the same sound off in the distance or scurrying past him, steps brisk with a sense of urgency, much like his own. Jihoon knew better than to look around, wondering eyes were generally discouraged and taken as the first signs of rebellion.

 

Jihoon schooled his expression to that of practiced neutrality, his head slightly lowered staring at the ground a few meters ahead of him. He is a few blocks away from his apartment when he felt a shiver wreck through his body, and it was not due to the cold. He had felt the piercing gaze of someone watching him from the darkness of the alleyways. His pace did not falter, not wanting the other party to know their presence had been discovered. Jihoon merely tightened his grip on his worn out briefcase until his knuckles were beginning to turn white. Having lived all his life in District Eleven, subjected to an abundance of constant, intrusive surveillance, Jihoon had developed an acute sense of being able to tell when he was being watched. He was quite thankful for this trait, as mistrust was the foundation of social existence, and he knew better than anyone that the spies were almost indifferentiable.  

 

_ Just a little bit to go. It’s not even curfew yet, you’ll be fine.  _ Jihoon tried to reassure himself, but in reality he knew that they could also strike before curfew. Though it was against the rigid laws imposed upon all districts, Jihoon had read the morning papers, read of the murders that had occurred in other districts. The horrid pictures of lifeless bodies, sprawled out internal organs and the drastic lack of blood, except for those stained permanently on the ground. The pictures had not sat well with his breakfast, however they had served their purpose well in scaring  _ the masses _ off the streets after curfew. It was only recently that cases of such murders had began arising in District Eleven, and they were increasing in numbers frightfully. 

 

Jihoon slipped into his apartment, the feeling of eyes on his back followed him the entire way, but he immediately felt a sense of relief. Though thoroughly tired and ready to collapse into his bed in dead slumber, Jihoon made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times, it was seldom working. The hallway smelt of stale beer and old rag mats. Overhead, the there was a single flickering light, casting wild shadows on all surfaces. Jihoon hurried up the winding stairs, but tired as he was, it took him a while to climb up to the eighth floor. On each landing, opposite the lift shaft, an enormous digital clock glowed a pale white. Jihoon had always found it amusing how there was no electricity to power the lifts, when the clocks seemed to have an endless supply. 

 

[00:15:47]

 

Fifteen minutes till curfew, found Jihoon in front of his flat fumbling with his keys to get the door open. Somewhere down the pitch black hall was the closing of a door. Jihoon stilled. He wasn’t sure why but the hair on the back of his neck were standing and goosebumps began spreading across his skin like crawling tarantulas. When he heard the soft systematic footfalls that began approaching his direction, his heart exploded, thumping loudly in his chest. It was so loud that Jihoon feared the other party could hear him, hear his heartbeats resonate off the crumbling walls and cracked paint. His blood was raging in his ears, like waves crashing against rocky shores. Yet he could still hear itー his heartbeat and the footsteps, they were getting closer and closer in their steady pace.

 

“Jihoonie.” The hand on his shoulder nearly made him jump out of his skin, Jihoon spun his whole body around, recoiling as if he had been stung. His breath tumbled out in short, rapid puffs. 

 

“I didn’t mean to scare you dear friend, it was just that I kept calling you but you didn’t respond,” Sungwoon, his neighbour who lived opposite him and occupied the desk beside his at work, looked at him with concern in his eyes. “Are you alright?”

 

“Yes, no it was justー It’s a bit late.” 

 

“Right, right, you don’t usually take the night shift. Thank you for switching with me.” Sungwoon said sheepishly, “I had a little something to do.”

 

“It’s alright.”

 

“Well, don’t let me stop you.” Sungwoon said, gesturing at Jihoon’s key which he had finally managed to jam into the door. Jihoon realised he had forgotten entirely about the footsteps. Turning back to his door, he took a quick glance down the dark corridor before twisting his key. There was no one there. The door to Jihoon’s flat swung open revealing the spartan condition of his humble dwelling. Sungwoon had bid him farewell and made his way down the stairs. By the time Jihoon noticed this and tried to call him back, he was already out of sight. 

 

[00:05:23]

 

Once inside his flat, the  _ blackbox  _ at the corner of the room switched on automatically. It flashed the numbers [00:04:59] and a mechanic voice could be heard: ‘Five minutes till curfew. Five minutes till curfew. Residents please remain indoors and stay away from entrance ways. Five minutes till curfew. Five minutes till curfew. Residents please remain indoors and stay away from entrance ways.’

 

Jihoon groaned in slight annoyance, though he was used to this, it never ceased to be irritating. What made it worse, was that the  _ blackbox _ was only partially controllable by its owner. Often it would turn on by itself, and when it did, one could only wait for it to switch off once again. The channels could not be changed and the volume could only ever be lowered, never muted. Every Wednesday, Friday and Sunday, residents were expected to be present in front of a  _ blackbox _ between hours twenty-one till half past twenty-one, wherever they were, for the routinely news update. Not doing so was taken as a sign of disobedience and rebellion. So every time, Jihoon would find himself sitted in front of his  _ blackbox _ , attentive and expression groomed to a look of grim enjoyment, which was recommended when watching the routine news. Every week, Jihoon would spend one and a half hours of his life, sitting around watching a  _ blackbox _ spit out success propaganda about their blessed living conditions. What with the 63% increase in harvest compared to last year, when the  _ degradates _ were literally starving to death on the streets, and Jihoon’s own pantry looked as empty as ever. They were all lies and Jihoon knew this. Jihoon understood that living in this world, there were certain fictions that he had to accept as factsー that their quality of life was constantly improving, that their future was on the rise and that there was no better time than the present. But worse of all, Jihoon had to accept that this was all blessings from the PUREBLOODS. That the PUREBLOODS were Gods and should be revered; the sad thing was that they were revered. 

 

‘Curfew in place. Systems in place. Curfew will end in eight hours. For your own safety, residents are advised to remain indoors. Sleep well.’ 

 

At some point in his life, Jihoon used to believe in the words of the  _ blackbox _ , that the curfew was implemented for the safety of the residents. How could he not? After seeing all the gruesome murders on the morning papers, Jihoon was certain that it was in the late hours of the night that the murders took place. But recently, it occurred to him that none of the murders published in the morning papers had happened after hour twenty-three. Jihoon had never once doubted, and would never ever doubt, the dangers of venturing outside after curfew. That was when the monsters came out to play, it was eight hours of pure lawlessness, as even the police didn’t want to be caught outside after curfew. Often he would fall asleep listening to the screams of  _ degradates _ and wake up to the stench of death. But in recent years, Jihoon began to question his understanding of said curfew. Not a single death that happened after curfew was recorded. The media reasoned that it was because there would be too many to mention, and that the  _ degradates _ did not deserve such honour anyways. However, Jihoon had seen people from  _ the masses _ disappear, too without a trace. Soon after, they would be omitted from the records, their names erased, and their beings had never existed. Jihoon had learned to stop questioning this process, but to simply accept it as it isー liquidation. 

 

While falling asleep that night, Jihoon heard the distant screams of agony and his mind drifted off into thinking about the slightly shorter male with a bright smile and baby-ish features. 

 

The next day at work, the desk next to Jihoon’s remained empty. Sungwoon never turned up to work that day. The day after that, his desk and apartment were cleared and it didn’t take long for another to fill the vacant space. Throughout it all, Jihoon kept his head down and simply continued with his work. Just like that, Sungwoon had been liquidated, his name could no longer be found in the records, he only remained in the memories of a few, and soon that would too disappear. 

**Author's Note:**

> I swear to god this is Panwink! Guanlin's just not here yet! 
> 
> Hopefully, the setting of the world is not too confusing. I used the novel 1984 by George Orwell as reference quite a bit too (but you don't have to read the novel xD), in my attempt to create and dark atmosphere, fingers-crossed that it worked. Sorry, there wasn't much movement in the plot here (and no Panwink at all!! Next chapter! I swear!), was trying to lay down the basic foundation of the fic.
> 
> First ever multi-chap fic so I'm very very very excited! Once again this is unbeta'd so please excuse any spelling and grammar mistakes! (And please tell me about them!!) Thank you for reading!! :))


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